by Alan James
Heading 283
Wind 275 at 15 kts.
The screen quickly showed:
28327515kts
Will, now positioned at the radar scope, voiced loudly, “She’s movin’ again. Looks like she’s up to one hundred fifty knots on a heading of zero-two-five. She’s losing altitude.”
“Watch her speed. I’d like a warning if she decides to buzz us again.”
“She’s holding at one-five-oh knots, Ken. I think she’s makin’ for a two-eighty-three intercept.”
Matson had left his seat and was hurrying to the back of the trailer. He stood behind Will, watching the scope. Kelly moved to the window again, straining his eyes to the south.
“She’ll be in position for an upwind turn in about thirty seconds,” Will said softly, knowing that Matson was now standing behind him. “C’mon baby,” he whispered, “c’mon.”
Both men held their breath. They seemed not to blink as they stared into the green glow, then Matson pointed, “There,” he said, “she’s coming left.”
“And,” Will continued, “it looks like she’s all the way ‘round to two-eight-three, and,” he drug out the word, “it looks like she’s holding.”
Matson spoke again, “OK guys, she’s about six or seven minutes out. Cory, grab a pair of binoculars and get outside. There’s enough moonlight that you might catch a glint off that shiny surface … join him if you like Kelly.” He continued barking orders, “Ben, make sure we’re recording all the telemetry, and if you get the chan...,” he was cut off by Perkins.
“Ken, were not receiving telemetry. We haven’t all night. The only transmission were getting from her, is her half of the keyboard conversation between the two of you.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Ken replied. “OK, let’s keep the recorders going anyway, we might get somethin’.”
***
Cory and Kellerman had made their way outside to the front of the trailer, on the window side, just out of the glare of the porch light. They trained their binoculars to the south, sweeping side to side, up and down, searching for anything that moved or bounced the slightest bit of moonlight back in their direction.
“If I’m doin’ my math right, she’s still about twelve miles downwind,” Kelly offered. “We’re gonna have to be really lucky to see her that far out.”
***
Back at the radar scope: “She’s holding steady at a hundred and fifty knots right down the middle of the runway. She not loosing altitude fast enough though.”
“I don’t think we have to worry about her glide slope Will. We’re not talkin’ your everyday aerodynamics here. Far as we know, she can come straight down if she wants to.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about. If she continues in at this altitude, she’ll be way above the ILS cone. We could end up with the same results as last time.”
Matson thought for a moment, “Where does she need to be?”
“If she’s somewhere between four to five thousand feet at five miles out, she should pick it up loud and clear.”
“OK,” Matson said, “forty-five hundred feet at five miles. Now all I have to do is figure out how to communicate that to her.”
“And you’d better hurry. She’s headin’ for the deck again, and her speed’s climbing so fas…, damn Ken, she’s at eighteen hundred knots again. If you’re gonna do something, you’d better make it quick.”
***
Outside: Kelly caught a faint glint in the dark double circles of the binoculars. “Did you see that,” he asked Cory.
“Yeah, I’ve got her. Oh man, she’s comin’ in like a bat-outta-hell.”
The two watched as the little star like object closed on them at an unbelievable rate. It was coming out of the sky at about a forty-five degree angle heading for a point well beyond the runway threshold. Then, suddenly, about two miles out, it slowed abruptly and started to level its flight path.
Cory, with binoculars still pressed tightly against his eyes, “Jeeze, I thought she was fixin’ to dig another big hole in the ground.”
***
Matson was just settling down in his seat when Will yelled, “Hold it Ken, she’s slowed. Don’t confuse her with instructions right now, it looks like she’s doin’ fine. She’s back down to a hundred and fifty and it looks like about a four or five degree glide slope.”
“She must have got her bearings when she hit the ILS cone,” offered Perkins.
Dr. Forest had moved to the window where Kelly had stood before. He was a fairly short man and was on tiptoes to get a view to the south end of the runway. “There she is,” he yelled.
The other three men abandoned their screens and radar scope and rushed to the window to join Forest. With necks craned and hands on each others shoulders for purchase, they could just see the tiny, almost white from moonlight, little object as it crossed the threshold and moved down the runway. It slowed quickly, moving as smooth as silk.
***
The plane was now no more than a quarter mile away, and Kelly, still using binoculars, could see that it had not lowered its landing gear. It appeared, however, to move as if it were rolling on solid surface. He watched as it slowed further, and then begin a turn toward the trailer. He found this rather strange, because the plane continued on a straight path down the runway. He continued to watch as it turned completely sideways to its direction of travel, as if moving on a cushion of air. And then, it stopped, pointed directly at the trailer.
Cory turned to Kelly, “You’re seeing the same thing I am, right.”
“Yeah, she landed gear up.”
“Good, I thought I was missin’ something.”
“C’mon, let’s get back inside,” Kelly offered.
“Shouldn’t we go have a look at her,” Cory almost insisted.
“I’m not so sure that’s the best thing to do right now. I don’t think we’ve got the slightest idea what’s waiting for us out there. Let’s go back in and see what Matson and the others have in mind.”
***
As they re-entered the trailer Dr. Forest was just coming down off his tip-toes, while the other four stayed at the window. Kelly didn’t wait for anyone to speak, “Here,” he said to no one in particular, “take a look at it with the binoculars.” As Matson turned to reach, Kelly continued, “I’ve flown lots of Sabre-Jets before, and that don’t look like any one of ’em.”
Matson trained the glasses on the object and remarked to Will, “Grab that other pair and have a look.” As Will took the binoculars from Cory, Matson continued, “She’s not on the ground. I couldn’t tell that before. She’s floatin’ six feet off the deck Will”
“Yeah, I see that,” Will exclaimed, then after a long pause, he whispered to Ken, “Lieutenant Kellerman is more than right. That’s not the same plane we sent up with Parker. Can you see through the canopy?”
“No,” Matson replied, “it’s reflecting too much moonlight.”
As they continued to view through the binoculars, Cory had stepped over to Matson’s station, “Hey guys, she’s talkin’ again.”
Matson quickly covered the distance to his table and took his seat. There on the screen was another:
?
While they pondered the little question mark, Cory saw his chance at the binoculars again. He took a place at the window, and after focusing on the plane he asked, “Why do you suppose she’s aimed herself right at us?”
“What?” Matson replied, still preoccupied with his screen.
Perkins then offered, “I’ll bet she has keyed in on us as an electromagnetic source. I’m sure we’re the only broadcast source of any kind for miles around.”
“I’m not sure I like those six, big, fifties pointing in our direction,” Cory chuckled.
As if he had suddenly remembered something very important, Will made a dash for the back of the trailer. He sat and keyed his board. The little three-view, that had been there before, enlarged itself to cover the
screen. He gave a sigh of relief as he saw that the nose section showed no indication of activity. Kelly suddenly realized what Will was looking for. He hurried to Will’s station, leaned over his shoulder and quietly asked, “Has she been armed?”
“No,” he said, catching his breath. “No, I’ve got a clean board.”
“What will it look like if we’ve got a problem?”
“Six small red circles, three on each side of the nose.” Will shook his head slowly.
“What is it?” Kelly asked.
“I thought it was a good idea at the time, made me feel like I wasn’t so much of a duncel, you know, if I actually had live ammo to look after, but now, I sure wish we hadn’t armed her.” He paused, “She’s carrying full magazines.”
“Sixteen hundred rounds?”
“Sixteen hundred and two.”
“And two,” Kelly chuckled snidely, “that’ll make a difference. Does Matson know?”
“I’m sure he does, but he doesn’t think about things like that. In fact, that would be the last thing on his mind; that little ship … opening up on us.”
“One of us has to keep an eye on your screen.”
“Yeah, I agree,” and with a couple keystrokes he reduced the three-view to its previous size in the corner of his screen. “There, that makes it a little harder to see from the other end of the trailer.”
“You don’t want anyone else to know if she goes red?”
“Look, they’ve got enough on their minds as it is,” Will said softly, but sternly. “Let me handle things at this end,” and he turned to the radar scope, ignoring Kelly.
***
Perkins turned to Matson, who was still pondering the question mark. “We’ve got to get her closer to the trailer Ken, and then get her under cover. The sun’s comin’ up in a few hours and she’s fixin’ to be real easy to spot.”
“What are we gonna cover her with? I don’t recall havin’ anything around here that big.”
“There’s three or four old cargo chutes in the service shed down at the far end of the runway; gotta be hundred footers at least; they should do the job.”
Cory, still at the window with binoculars, called to Matson, “Hey!” he exclaimed, “you don’t have to worry about movin’ her, she’s comin’ this way.”
Matson stood to look, then, sat back down quickly to check his screen; still seeing nothing but the question mark. “Will,” he called to the back of the trailer. “Do you see any movement on radar?”
“No Ken, she’s lost in ground clutter. Eyeball is the only way to keep track of her now.”
“She’s comin’ straight at us guys, very slowly, but right at us.”
Perkins suggested, “Ken, try keeping her busy. Type something … ask her something.”
“Oh, you think she can’t move and answer a question at the same time?
Perkins was now standing at the window with binoculars. “Cory’s right,” he said, “she’s headed this way. Looks like a quick-march pace and she’s about fifty yards out. If we don’t get her stopped, she’ll go half way through us.”
Matson typed:
PARKER?
The screen quickly answered:
PARKER
He typed PARKER STOP
The screen answered:
?
He typed PARKER HALT
The screen answered:
?
The plane was now off the runway on a collision course with the trailer. It moved onto a small grassy area where Cory and Kelly had stood earlier to watch her as she screamed out of the sky beyond the end of the runway. Perkins watched as it passed over an old redwood picnic table setting out front. He lowered the binoculars, and, with his eyes, he could see the table begin to vibrate violently a few inches off the ground. It seemed locked in some sort of force field that held it in place as it was beat to pieces. “Hurry Ken,” he pleaded, “we got about twenty seconds.”
Matson looked up. He could now see the top of the plane’s vertical stabilizer shining in the moonlight; moving closer. He went back to his keyboard and typed a question mark.
When the screen failed to answer, he looked back up at the window, and in a hopeless gesture, he braced both hands on the front of his desk, fully expecting to be bowled over in a shower of broken glass.
“Hey, what’d you do,” Perkins asked loudly. “She’s slowing.”
All eyes were riveted to the front of the trailer. They watched as the plane slowly filled the window and then stopped no more than twenty feet from the glass. Perkins could feel the vibration that had destroyed the picnic table as it began to work its way into the floor beneath him. As the window began to shake to the point of near destruction, a set of three landing gear flashed from under the craft; so quickly that it seemed they materialized from nowhere. The plane then settled the last few inches to the ground. Perkins, with his eyes on the window, watched as the glass began to undulate in a wave motion from the harmonics set up by the vibration. As it reached the point where he was sure it would explode, sending shards of glass over everyone, the vibration suddenly began to fade away.
SOMETHING CHROME
Matson, Perkins and Will made their way to the small space available for standing at the window. Dr. Forest grabbed a chair to stand on, and Cory climbed up on the table between stations. He placed both hands on the sill and peered out the window, only his fingers, eyes, and forehead visible from outside. Kelly found a spot behind Matson and Perkins. The men stood in silence. The plane was illuminated, only slightly, by the light coming from inside the trailer, but it was enough to tell each man that they were not looking at an F-eighty-six.
“Cory,” Matson barked in a hoarse whisper, as if he didn’t want the plane to hear, “hit the floods.”
Cory backed away from the window, climbed down off the table and ran to the back wall. He opened a small breaker box that housed a set of switches. Placing his thumbs against all four, he pushed them upwards. As they snapped to the on position, he could hear the breath as it left the lungs of each of the men still at the window.
There, before them, sat something chrome. It was completely chrome. Down its center appeared to be the vestige of what was once a Sabre-Jet fuselage. Its nose was almost completely closed, as if an attempt was being made to streamline it to a point. At the angle the plane was sitting, and because the J-forty-seven engine had been removed, Matson, who was centered on the craft, could look into what was left of the air intake and right out the tailpipe. The shape of the canopy was still there, but that too had been modified. It was much lower in profile, and it too was chrome. The horizontal stab was gone, but the vertical stabilizer was still there, standing straight, tall and tapered in all its former glory.
And then there were the wings, if that is what they could now be called. The root of each wing, next to the fuselage, had migrated fore and aft until they were connected to the plane very near the nose and tail. The leading and trailing edges had rounded themselves until they scribed a graceful, circular arc on both sides of the plane, so that when viewed from above, they formed a perfect disc.
They stood, speechless, for a moment, until Matson spoke softly, with a lilt in his voice, “Oh my,” Then he paused before whispering, almost reverently, “What have we done?” Turning back to the room, he spoke to no one, and everyone, “She’s recreating herself. She’s becoming a disc again.”
“A hybrid?” Perkins questioned quietly.
“Maybe, or maybe not,” Forest said, his own incredulity slowly wearing off. “At this point, I don’t think we can be sure. If she hasn’t finished changing herself, she may very well end up a perfect disc, again.”
Will stepped away from the window. As he walked past Kelly he motioned with an eye movement, as if to say, ‘follow me’. As they walked toward the radar scope Will asked quietly, “Did you see the gun ports?”
“You mean the blackening?”
“Yeah, all six guns,�
� he paused and shook his head. “She’s fired rounds.”
Kelly took a minute to ponder the implications, “What on Earth would she be shooting at?”
“Not a clue,” Will answered. “There’s never been any reports, that I can remember over the last three years, of anyone havin’ potshots taken’ at ‘em by an F-eighty-six shootin’ up the desert floor around here. That surely would’ve drawn, at least, a little attention.”
Kelly started to speak, then held back.
“What is it?” Will asked, “you got something to say, let’s hear it”
“Look,” Kelly said, “I think you’re getting the same feeling about this that I am.” He paused, not wanting to believe what he was thinking. “You guys say you’re sure Parker is dead, right?”
“Yes! He’s got to be.”
“Well, somebody, or something, is answering when Matson types the questions.”
Will nodded.
“What if there was a thing,” he searched for a better word, “a presence …”
Will interrupted, “You mean, an intelligence?”
“Yeah, an intelligence … living, or existing, in the skin itself. Hell, maybe the ship was just as alive as its crew.” He paused again as his monster in this deep and ever darkening hallway grew larger. “Hell maybe there never was a crew.”
“What? You think it’s a living machine?” Will whispered.
Kelly nodded almost imperceptibly, then asked with a raise of his eyelids, “Why not?”
“And, what about Parker?” Will questioned. “Remember the answers? It called itself CB65227PARKER. And the poker game? It said it wanted to play.”
“Yeah,” said Kelly, “and it responded to landing info. Those things have been bothering me too.”
Will looked at his scope, then back up at Kelly, “Look, this is some really way-out-there stuff. And, we could be way off base just as easy as not.” Will reached over and turned his screen off. “Let’s keep this between you and me, for now, OK”